


The Aftermath

by pushingcrazies



Series: In for a Penny...or Five Pounds. [3]
Category: Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Asexual!Sherlock, M/M, Multi, sort of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-04-26
Updated: 2012-04-26
Packaged: 2017-11-04 08:15:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,768
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/391707
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pushingcrazies/pseuds/pushingcrazies
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It wasn’t exactly unusual for Lestrade to wake up and find Sherlock in his room, perched on the dresser or even on the edge of his bed.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Aftermath

**Author's Note:**

> Not exactly your typical asexual!Sherlock fic, I suppose. Just...keep reading.
> 
> This started out as a crack-fic with The Pool, but I'm afraid it's turned into something rather more serious than I expected. I hope you enjoy.

 It wasn’t exactly unusual for Lestrade to wake up and find Sherlock in his room, perched on the dresser or even on the edge of his bed.  This, though…this – dare he say it? – _cuddling_ was entirely unprecedented, and quite frankly a little bit disconcerting.  Add to it the fact that none other than Mycroft Holmes was on Lestrade’s other side (thankfully not clinging to him in the same way Sherlock was, but still awfully close), and Lestrade was fairly certain he was still asleep or hallucinating.  How much had he drunk last night? 

He definitely remembered arriving at the party, and that there was alcohol.  A lot of alcohol.  And apparently a lot of mistletoe because everywhere he sat or stood, someone would come up and kiss him.  Lestrade wouldn’t have been surprised if Gregson had taped some to the back of his head while he wasn’t paying attention.  Actually, he thought, stifling a groan, that was exactly the sort of thing Gregson would do.  He concentrated as well as he could on the back of his head, trying to feel if there was anything there that shouldn’t be.

“Stop it,” Sherlock mumbled sleepily.  Every muscle in Lestrade’s body froze, including his heart for half a beat.

“Stop what?” he whispered, trying not to wake up Mycroft.  Dealing with one Holmes at a time, that was the only way he was going to survive this encounter.

“Stop thinking.  Do you have a hangover?”

Lestrade tried to assess his body without moving too much.  He didn’t have a headache, but everywhere else was sore and lethargic.  “A bit, yeah,” he admitted.

Sherlock pulled the covers down a bit.  “Go to the bathroom, you’ll feel better afterwards.”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade hissed.  It wasn’t that he was unused to Sherlock speaking casually about personal matters or not realising when something was inappropriate to bring up, but the man was in his bed for Chrissakes.  The least he could do was try to show some tact and _not_ bring up bodily functions.

“What?  You need to get the toxins out of your system, and –“

Lestrade put his hand over Sherlock’s mouth.  “Shut.  Up.”  He climbed over Sherlock, moving carefully so as not to jostle the bed too much.  Whomever had undressed him last night had left his boxers on, for which Lestrade was exceedingly grateful.  Unfortunately, the same could not be said of Sherlock, and Lestrade had to be careful where he put his hands as he rolled out of bed.  “Just stay here and don’t get into anything.”

Lestrade took his time in the bathroom, trying to sort out his thoughts.  He remembered kissing Mycroft, and then some time later kissing Sherlock as well.  He remembered leaving the party with Sherlock, and…Mycroft had been waiting at his flat?  What had that been about?  His stomach gave a small flutter; had he and Sherlock been about to have sex last night before his unholy terror of a brother interrupted them?  If so, that might explain why Mycroft had decided to involve himself.  After all, the man was overbearingly protective of his younger brother, though not without good cause.  Still that didn’t explain how both brothers had ended up in his bed last night.  Lestrade washed and dried his hands carefully, then wrapped himself up in his dressing gown before returning to his bedroom.

Both brothers were awake now.  Sherlock had disobeyed Lestrade’s instructions (surprise, surprise) and gone into the kitchen to make tea.  Apparently, he had felt the need to take the whole duvet with him when he did so, which had caused Mycroft to wake suddenly at the feeling of cold air on his bare skin.  Now Sherlock was back, perched on the edge of the bed, duvet artfully wrapped around his body (thank God, or else Lestrade would be in Serious Trouble), while Mycroft was sitting up in bed, his hair tousled and lap covered by the thin top sheet.  Fortunately he was also wearing boxers, as well as a vest.

Lestrade crossed his arms, feeling exposed in spite of the dressing gown.  He stared at them, waiting for some sort of explanation.

Sherlock flopped down on the bed.  “Kettle’s going to boil soon,” he said.

“You put it on, you can go fix the tea,” Mycroft responded, stretching out leisurely.  Lestrade did not notice the way the sheet dragged against his long legs.  Not one bit.

“I put it on, therefore you should be the one to fix it.  Sharing, remember?”

Sharing? Lestrade wondered.  Sharing what, exactly?

“This is so like you.  You never finish what you start,” Mycroft was saying.

Sherlock opened his mouth to retort, but Lestrade had had enough.  “Look,” he said.  “Thank you for bringing me home last night.  Sorry I was so out of it, but you can go now.”

Sherlock’s eyes latched onto his, a wicked gleam in their depths.  “Ah, Lestrade.  Back so soon.  Surely you’re not going to kick us out without giving us tea first?”

“Sherlock!” Mycroft snapped.  “Can’t you see the poor, dear man is confused?  Have a seat, Gregory.”

Now really, that was just too much – being offered a seat in his own home…his own bed, no less.  Leave it to Mycroft bloody Holmes.  “No, I bloody will not have a seat.  What the hell are you two doing here?”

“Mycroft was just about to make us tea.”

“Sherlock,” Lestrade exclaimed.  “Will you leave the tea alone for five seconds and explain to me why I woke up with you two in my bed?”

“After the party last night,” Sherlock began, speaking slowly as though to a small child, “we could not decide which of us would be a better-suited partner for you.  So we have decided to share you.”

Lestrade was struck completely dumb, which was just as well since the kettle chose that moment to whistle.  He was in such a daze that he automatically went to make the tea without protest, much to Sherlock’s delight.  By the time it was well steeped and ready for pouring, Lestrade felt he had a better grasp on his own thoughts, if not the situation itself.  He fixed himself a cup, purposely not making one for either of the brothers, just to annoy Sherlock.  And maybe Mycroft as well, if he was as addicted to caffeine as his little brother.

“So,” he said as he returned to the bedroom.  “You two both want to…date me.”

Sherlock seemed to feel this was too obvious a statement for response, but Mycroft nodded encouragingly.

“But you couldn’t come to an agreement, so you’ve decided to share.  You two.  Share.  Sherlock and Mycroft Holmes.”

“That is correct.”

“And it never occurred to either one of you to let _me_ make the decision?”

The two brothers exchanged a glance.  “You were there for the whole conversation,” Mycroft said.  “Yet you never voiced an opinion on which of us you would prefer, nor did you make an objection when we came to our decision.”

“I was in the other room,” Lestrade protested.  “I wasn’t so drunk that I don’t remember parts of last night.  And I certainly wasn’t so drunk that if I knew what was being discussed, I’d agree to an incestuous threesome.”

“It wouldn’t be incestuous,” Mycroft explained.  “We have agreed to take it in turns.”

“Unless you want it to be,” Sherlock said suddenly.

Both Lestrade and Mycroft stared at him.  “Excuse me?” Mycroft said.

“Is it not a common fantasy amongst straight males to bed two sisters at the same time?  Therefore it is not a huge leap of logic to transfer the same fantasy to a gay or bisexual male and substitute brothers for sisters,” Sherlock said.

Lestrade wondered if Mycroft’s head felt like it were about to explode from the sheer surreality of the situation, but going by his blatantly intrigued expression, probably not.  “I’m not going to fuck both of you,” Lestrade cried.

“Of course not,” Sherlock rejoined.  “I was thinking one of us could fuck you while the other sucked you off.”

This was too much.  “Since when do you know anything about sex?” he demanded, hoping that Sherlock would get offended and just bloody leave already.

Sure enough, Sherlock turned bright red, but he wasn’t ready to storm out, not quite yet.  “Ah,” Mycroft said.  “So that’s what you were researching last night on your phone as we went to bed.”

“I thought it best to be prepared for all situations and outcomes,” Sherlock muttered.

“Guess it was a wasted effort,” Lestrade snapped.  “Because I won’t be your guinea pig, Sherlock.  Isn’t that what you got John for?”

“I think, Brother Dear,” Mycroft said, smirking, “that our lovely Detective Inspector doubts our sincerity.”

Sherlock looked up at Lestrade through those impossibly long eyelashes, and damn it all to hell, Lestrade was done for.  He didn’t care if this was one of Sherlock’s manipulations – the look in his eyes was downright possessive, and it stirred a feeling deep down in his gut.  When was the last time someone had looked at him like that?  Not since well before his wife.

Mycroft, meanwhile, was unfolding himself from the bed.  He stepped up to Lestrade, completely silent so that Lestrade didn’t even see him until he was taking his now-cold tea out of his hands.  Lestrade’s hands hung awkwardly in midair, not sure what to do with themselves now that they were no longer occupied; Mycroft quickly resolved that by placing them on his hips and drawing Lestrade close.  Lestrade’s eyes no longer were on Sherlock; now he could look nowhere but at Mycroft.  He felt dizzy, short of breath, and that was before Mycroft even kissed him.

To be kissed by a Holmes was like nothing Lestrade had ever experienced before.  Vague memories of the previous night flitted into Lestrade’s head as Mycroft coaxed his lips apart, slipping his tongue inside.  Mycroft was a rather forceful kisser, but not to the degree that made it unpleasant.  He simply…knew what he wanted and he took it.  Just like everything else in his life.  Sherlock, though, was inexperienced in a way that was beyond endearing.  It was good to know there was _something_ in this world in which Sherlock was naïve.  And oh how badly did Lestrade want to be his teacher.

Mycroft’s hands reached up to cup Lestrade’s face, while a pressure against his back let Lestrade know Sherlock had decided to join the party.  Slim, white hands toyed with the belt of his dressing gown, sending shivers down Lestrade’s spine.  He was just about to break away from them both when a soft breath ghosted over his ear, whispering, “Do you still doubt us…Greg?” and Lestrade could no longer resist the little voice in the back of his head saying “Yes, this is what you have been waiting for.  What you have suffered and struggled for.”  Who knew it would be something so simple as Sherlock Holmes calling him by his first name?

Lestrade groaned, breaking free of Mycroft’s kiss to gulp in air.  He felt dizzy, and if it weren’t for Sherlock at his back, he surely would have collapsed.  Instead, he used one hand to grasp Mycroft and pull him closer, and the other hand to reach for Sherlock’s hip behind him.  He had completely forgotten that Sherlock wasn’t wearing any clothes.  He started slightly when his hand came into contact with bare skin.  Sherlock untied the belt and pulled open the dressing gown, while Mycroft slipped the material from Lestrade’s shoulders.  The Holmes brothers are actually working together, Lestrade thought muzzily, and it’s all thanks to me.  The thought nearly made him laugh.

Mycroft bent slightly, planting kisses along Lestrade’s neck and upper chest.  Sherlock explored Lestrade’s back, mapping every mole, scar, and hair, committing them to his hard drive.

“Mine,” he whispered.

“Ours,” Mycroft countered.

“Bed,” Lestrade choked.

The brothers actually had the audacity to smile at each other over his head.  “Does this mean you are consenting to our arrangement?” Sherlock asked.

“What do you think?” Lestrade said.  He shoved his hips backwards roughly, rubbing against Sherlock’s erection.  Sherlock hissed through his teeth, unprepared for such over-stimulating sensations.  In revenge, he grabbed hold of Lestrade’s boxers and _yanked_.

“Oi,” Lestrade yelped.  “Watch what you’re doing, Sunshine.  You don’t want to permanently damage anything down there.”

“Quite right,” Mycroft agreed, steering Lestrade out of Sherlock’s grip and onto the bed.  The brothers stood shoulder to shoulder in front of him, gazing down hungrily.  Mycroft was still wearing his boxers and vest, but Sherlock stood tall and unabashed in spite of his obvious erection.  In fact, if anything, he seemed to be displaying it on purpose for Lestrade’s pleasure.

“How will you have us?” Mycroft said, as breezily as if he were asking Lestrade if he preferred chicken or fish.

“Um, h-however you think is best,” Lestrade said.

“You are going to give up your one opportunity to have us do anything you say, no questions asked?” Sherlock asked, raising one eyebrow.

Well, when he put it like that… “Mycroft, take off your clothes,” Lestrade said hastily.  “Sherlock, um…”  He hesitated.

“Yes?” Sherlock prompted.  Beside him, Mycroft stepped out of his boxers and lifted the vest over his head.  Lestrade licked his lips, dragging his eyes away from the sight and back to meet Sherlock’s.

“Kiss me?”

He expected Sherlock to make a snide remark, or smirk at the very least.  He didn’t expect Sherlock to carefully take his face in both hands and gently lower his mouth to Lestrade’s.  He didn’t expect him to kneel in between Lestrade’s knees and push forward, pressing their bodies together.  The kiss itself was slow, sensual, deliberate; Lestrade could feel his brain grinding to a dead halt.

Sherlock was a quick study, which Lestrade already knew after years of watching him blossom into what he was today.  But he was unprepared for Sherlock going from amateur kisser to expert in less than twelve hours.  Had he been watching videos that explained the appropriate pressure to apply, the suitable amount of time before slipping his tongue into his partner’s mouth?  Had he found some sort of reading material online that told him to flick his tongue just so against Lestrade’s?  Surely a couple of drunken, fumbling kisses the night before had not taught him this level of mastery.

Lestrade broke away.  “Get on the bed,” he whispered roughly.  A glance at Mycroft.  “Both of you.  Mycroft, against the headboard.  Sherlock, just….just anywhere.”

They both did as they were told, much to Lestrade’s delight.  He wondered if he would be able to invoke this sort of power the next time one brother or the other decided to trample all over his crime scene.  Probably not, at least not without a lot of questions from his team.  Questions that weren’t worth the hassle of answering.  How on Earth would he explain something like _this?_

Lestrade looked at each of them in turn, considering.  As satisfying as it would be to fuck Sherlock senseless, Mycroft had always been such a pain in the arse, and it was high time Lestrade returned the favour.  Lestrade reached for the nightstand, but Mycroft anticipated his needs and grabbed the lube from out of the drawer.  Lestrade took it from him with trembling fingers.  This all suddenly seemed too real.

Sherlock reached around him and took the lube from his limp fingers.  One hand smoothed down Lestrade’s back.  From anyone else, it would have seemed like a gesture of comfort, but from Sherlock, it was impossible to decipher.  Sherlock didn’t do comfort.  He didn’t do gentle or soothing.

“Hush,” Sherlock whispered into his ear, and Lestrade nearly panicked when he realised Sherlock’s voice was shaking almost as much as Lestrade’s hands.  "You're thinking too much again."

Lestrade could have smacked himself.  This was Sherlock’s first time, of course, and here Lestrade was freaking out when he had no real cause to.  Mycroft was by far the calmest and steadiest of them all, but not even he could be the center of balance for all three of them.  Lestrade needed to pull himself together and be firm for Sherlock’s sake, if not his own.

“How about you make me stop thinking?” Lestrade countered and oh god did that sound corny even to his ears.  Nonetheless, it worked; Sherlock’s big brain kicked into high gear, sorting through all the various bits of information he’d read and watched on his phone last night while Lestrade and Mycroft slept.  He reached out and pushed Lestrade down until he was lying flat on the bed, his head next to Mycroft’s hip.  Lestrade lifted his own hips and shoved a pillow under them, knowing Sherlock wouldn’t have bothered to remember the small details like that.  Sherlock, meanwhile, was pouring a small amount of lube onto his fingers and sniffing at it gingerly.  He made a face.

“They even make flavoured varieties,” Mycroft informed him, the smirk evident in his voice.  Lestrade turned his head to nip at him in warning.

Sherlock ignored his brother, and – having deemed the lubricant suitable – shoved two fingers into Lestrade without warning.

“Holy Jesus fuck,” Lestrade shouted, nearly leaping off the bed in shock.

Sherlock frowned at him, then at his fingers, unwilling to ask if he had done it wrong.  Instead he settled for a sulky “What?”

Mycroft sat forward while Lestrade struggled to regain his breath.  He placed a calming hand in the middle of Lestrade’s chest and used the other hand to guide Sherlock’s hand back to Lestrade’s arse.  “The whole point in preparing a man with lubricant is to not cause harm, Sherlock.”  Though the words were berating, the tone was nothing but gentle.  “Unless I am mistaken, it has been a while since Gregory has had anal sex.”

“I don’t even want to know how you know that,” Lestrade grumbled, flopping his head down onto the bed.

“Do it like this,” Mycroft directed.

Surely he wasn’t…but when Lestrade lifted his head to confirm, sure enough Mycroft was kneeling beside his brother, guiding his fingers as they circled Lestrade’s anus.  Under his brother’s direction, Sherlock dipped one finger in, pumping it in and out and spreading the lubricant as much as possible.  Lestrade groaned, both from the contact and from the sight of the brothers working together to undo him completely.  It turned out Sherlock was right – seeing two brothers together in a sexual situation was arousing in ways that Lestrade would never, ever admit to out loud.

Mycroft guided Sherlock’s second finger in.  “Scissor them.  Gently,” he said.  Sherlock did as he was told, carefully opening Lestrade.  “Perfect,” Mycroft said, eyeing Lestrade like he was the last slice of cake in the world.

“Is he ready?” Sherlock asked.

“Wait,” Lestrade said.  This wasn’t going to work, not if he wanted to fuck Mycroft at the same time.  He jerked the pillow out from under his hips and flipped onto his side.  The bed shuddered and squeaked protests at all the rough treatment it was receiving, where before it had only to contend with Lestrade’s occasional nightmares.

Sherlock stared at Lestrade, puzzled.  Apparently this position had not come up during his research.  Lestrade grabbed the less sticky hand and tugged him down until he got the idea and lay down behind him.  He scooted as close as he could, trying to line up his penis with Lestrade’s arse.

“Use your hand to put yourself in,” Mycroft said.

“Yes, I know, thank _you_ ,” Sherlock snapped.  Still, he looked to Mycroft for approval as he positioned himself and pushed forward.  “There is something…”

Lestrade strained as though trying to push Sherlock out, and Sherlock was able to slide in with relative easy.  Mycroft was right; it had been a very long time since Lestrade had done anything of this nature, even on his own.  He usually stuck to simple wanking, generally to porn.  There was a distinct feeling of discomfort at first, but once Sherlock began a steady pace of in-out-in-out, the pleasure nearly overwhelmed Lestrade.  Behind him, Sherlock let out a choked sound.

“Good?” Lestrade asked breathlessly.

“I can’t get any leverage,” Sherlock panted.

Oh, right.  Now for the next stage.  “Mycroft, lay down.”




Mycroft returned to his earlier position, propped up against the headboard, surrounded by pillows.  Lestrade grabbed the one he had discarded earlier and gestured for Mycroft to put it under his hips.  Mycroft smirked, guessing his intentions.  Lestrade rolled onto his stomach, trying to keep Sherlock inside of him as well as he could, but in spite of his best efforts, Sherlock’s cock slipped free, causing both men to whimper.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  
  
Lestrade realised belatedly that he should have prepped Mycroft earlier, but when he slipped a finger into Mycrot’s hole, he was surprised to find it was already wet.  When had he managed that in between instructing Sherlock?  Lestrade felt a bolt of lust streak through his abdomen, and suddenly he was done with taking his time and making sure everyone was comfortable.  He wanted these boys, and he wanted them now.  He pushed Mycroft’s legs up, exposing his arsehole.  He ignored the way Sherlock was scrabbling behind him, trying to get his cock back inside Lestrade, who was wiggling too much for him to succeed.  Lestrade grabbed Mycroft and dragged him closer to the edge of the bed, so Lestrade could plant one foot on the ground for even greater leverage.  Behind him, Sherlock did the same, though he was grumbling about how Wikipedia hadn’t mentioned this particular manoeuvre.  Lestrade continued to ignore him.  He grabbed his own cock and thrust it into Mycroft at the same time Sherlock managed to do the same to him.

Lestrade was nearly blinded with overstimulation.  Mycroft was so tight around his cock, and Sherlock was pressed further into him that he had been able to get before.  They froze for one long moment, each man lost in his own sensations.  Then Sherlock began to move, pushing and pulling Lestrade with him, forcing him to fuck Mycroft.  For one delirious moment, Lestrade thought Sherlock was really fucking Mycroft, only using Lestrade as a life-size sex toy.  He nearly let out a hysterical giggle.

After that, Lestrade was gone.  Sherlock discovered his prostate, and it was all Lestrade could do to hold on.  Mycroft became rather vocal, which surprised Lestrade; Sherlock, on the other hand, was nearly silent.  He only let out the occasional groan or breathless expletive.  About halfway through, Lestrade realised he himself had taken up a litany of “fuck, harder, yes, fuck,” so quiet that he wasn’t even sure he was saying it out loud.  He somehow managed to gain the presence of mind to grasp Mycroft’s cock and jerk him off in what was probably the worst hand job in history.  Nonetheless, it brought Mycroft to completion, and Lestrade’s vision went black as Mycroft clenched down on his cock.  He was coming, swearing, unable to keep a steady rhythm, and so glad to have both men on either side of him to support him.

When he came back to his senses, he realised Sherlock was still hard inside him.  He could feel lethargy creeping over him, but he mustered the strength to push back against Sherlock, urging him to join them in satiation.  His own cock slipped free of Mycroft, who settled back with a sigh.  Sherlock’s hands skittered against Lestrade’s back.  Lestrade pushed again.

“No, stop,” Sherlock said.  He sounded shaky and overwrought.  Lestrade stilled immediately, concern overriding his lassitude.  He tried to peer over his shoulder to catch Sherlock’s eye, but the younger man was hiding his face against Lestrade’s back.

“What’s wrong, Sunshine?”

Sherlock gave another experimental thrust, and whimpered.  “I can’t,” he whispered.

“Okay,” Lestrade soothed.  “It’s okay.  Pull out.  Mycroft, help him.”

Mycroft reached for his brother, but as soon as his hands touched him, Sherlock jerked away, wrenching himself out of Lestrade and nearly tearing the delicate skin of his hole.  Lestrade suppressed a cry, but by the time he was no longer seeing stars, Sherlock was out the bedroom door, and Mycroft was torn between going after him and staying to make sure Lestrade was alright.

“I’m fine,” Lestrade assured him.  “You stay here.  I don’t think he wants you around at the moment.”

“This was his idea,” Mycroft said.  It wasn’t fair for him to be angry with his brother, but Lestrade could understand where Mycroft was coming from.  It must have been difficult growing up with such a temperamental little brother, and now here he was ruining Mycroft’s sex life as well.  Completely on impulse, Lestrade brushed a kiss over the top of Mycroft’s head.

“I know, but even Sherlock can have bad ideas every once in a while.  I’m just going to make sure he’s okay.”

Lestrade tracked down the errant Holmes into his bathroom, where Sherlock was perched on the toilet, still naked and partially hard.  His breathing was irregular, but he didn’t seem to be in any pain or shock.  Lestrade lowered himself onto the edge of the tub, noting the way his back was beginning to twinge from the night’s cramped sleeping arrangements and the morning’s exertions.

Sherlock did not meet his eyes.  “I do not wish to talk about it.”

“Okay,” Lestrade said.  “Did you catch the football game last Saturday?  It was an absolute disaster.”

At least this made Sherlock look up at him, even if it was to glower.  “You know I have no interest in sports.”

“No?  Since when?”

“Do not mock me, Lestrade.”  There was a long pause as Sherlock sorted out his thoughts and Lestrade tried to think what he could possibly say in this situation.  “It was too much,” Sherlock said at last.

“Yeah, a threesome with your brother probably wasn’t a good idea for your first time,” Lestrade agreed.

“No, not just that.  All of it.  I thought I could go through with it.  After all, it is the simplest thing in the world – even Anderson manages to _get laid_ , as they say, with startling regularity.  But it was too much.  I felt…out of control.  I did not like it.”

“Alright…so we won’t do it again,” Lestrade said.

“No,” Sherlock exclaimed.  “We must do it again.  Soon.  Just not…”

“Well, if you didn’t like it this time what makes you think you’ll like it later?” Lestrade asked.  Sherlock’s thought processes were usually above his head, but this was beyond mind-boggling.

“I will like it.”

Lestrade waved his hand to indicate it was no big deal.  “Don’t worry about it, Sunshine.  You can’t force yourself to like it.”

“But I will.”

“Sherlock!”  Lestrade was at his wits’ end.  “What does it matter?”

“It matters because I do not wish to lose you to _him_ ,” Sherlock snapped.

“That…I thought you two were going to share me?  How can you lose me to him if…?” Lestrade said.

“If I do not give you regular sex, you will spend more and more time with him until I become superfluous to your needs,” Sherlock said. “It is the most logical conclusion.”

Lestrade gaped, flat out.  “That…is the stupidest thing that has ever come out of your mouth.”

Sherlock glared at him.  “Excuse me?”

Lestrade reached out a hand to caress his face.  “You heard me.  There’s more to a relationship than sex, whatever you’ve been told before.  In fact, it will probably make our relationship stronger than me and your brother’s.  Not to mention, I’m not as young as I used to be.  I doubt I have enough energy for one sexual partner, not to mention two.  There’s loads of other things we could do, besides.”

“Like what?” Sherlock demanded.

Lestrade stretched and stood.  “Well, I don’t know about you, but I’m all sweaty and sticky.  I’d love to take a bath.  Join me?”

The bathtub was too small to accommodate one full-grown man, let alone two, but Lestrade managed to fill it with water and get comfortable before Sherlock folded himself up into an impossibly small shape and curled up in his lap.  It was so cozy and relaxing that Lestrade nearly fell asleep a couple of times before Mycroft came into the bathroom with fresh tea as a peace offering.  Sherlock unfolded himself just enough to take it from him and murmur a thank you.  Lestrade grinned at the surprised look on Mycroft’s face.

Yes, he thought, maybe this was a good idea after all.  A man could get used to this.


End file.
